Charlie Hernández & the Castle of Bones

by Ryan Calejo

  He’d been one of my all-time favorite sombras for as far back as I could remember.

  His stories had made me laugh. And smile. And dream.

  He’d been a hero to me. The Prankster King of the World!

  Back then I would’ve given anything to hang out with him. To go pranking with him.

  And now I was watching him die.

  Right here. In my arms.

  It was too much. It was all just too much.

  Violet met my eyes and, as if reading my thoughts, reached out to wipe a tear from my cheek.

  “It’s okay,” she whispered. “He’s free now.… He’s free.”

  With my heart pounding in my throat, I said, “What did he write on my face…?”

  I heard V swallow as she said, “Best.” She paused to wipe her eyes. “And what about on mine?”

  “Friends,” I answered, reading it right off her cheek—and the moment the words left my lips, it was as if everything inside me—every last ounce of strength—instantly crumbled.

  I started bawling. Crying harder than I almost ever had. I probably sounded like a newborn baby—maybe even looked like one too. But I didn’t care. Not even a little.

  I’d just lost a friend. And right now that was all I cared about.

  Choking on tears, I started to hang my head—

  And caught movement out of the corner of my eyes. I turned, saw La Mano Peluda still dancing along the windowsill, strutting proudly around on its thumb and forefinger

  And as my gaze narrowed on it, all my sadness, all my grief instantly turned to anger, a hot, boiling rage that burned in my veins like acid. I stared at it a moment longer, and my rage turned to fury, and suddenly the world seemed to fade away.

  There was only me and it.

  I didn’t think, just grabbed the dagger poking out of the asema’s ashes and took off toward the hand.

  Less than five yards away, I beat my wings and lunged, hurtling through the air as I raised the sword over my head, preparing to bring it down like a stake.

  I hated that hand like I’d never hated anything before in my entire life.

  That was the hand behind my abuela’s murder.

  That was the puppeteer that had been pulling the strings when Violet had almost been poisoned, when my parents had been turned into dolls and nearly died.

  That was the evil behind so many bad things that had happened to the people I loved most, and now I just wanted to make it pay. No, I would make it pay.

  As my sneakers touched back down, I brought the sword around in a sharp downward arc, intending to impale La Mano to the windowsill.

  The tip of the dagger was less than four inches from the hand when it suddenly whirled around, fingers raised like a scorpion’s tail, and the dagger froze in midair—

  Froze completely.

  Gritting my teeth, I began pulling down on the dagger with all of my strength, with every last ounce of my bodyweight. Only nothing happened.

  It wouldn’t budge. Not even an inch.

  The hand had taken hold of it somehow. And even if I hadn’t been feeling it, I could now see it: Dark, smokelike tendrils were seeping out from beneath La Mano’s fingernails, curling around the blade of the dagger even as I tried to force it down. Twisting and tightening, they climbed up the steel like some vapory, otherworldly ivy, overpowering me as it did. And the fact that I could now feel myself losing this struggle made me mad, made me even more furious.

  Problem was, the angrier I got and the more I let myself hate La Mano, the stronger it seemed to get, and the stronger it got, the more furious and scared I became, and soon it was overpowering me with ease, turning the dagger back in my direction, aiming it straight for my heart, and there wasn’t a single thing I could do about it.

  I’m so gonna die.…

  The smokelike tendrils darkened, thickened as the tip of the dagger grazed my chest, drawing blood. My arms were getting weaker. La Mano Peluda was getting stronger. My muscles were on fire, about to go. Translation: La Mano had won.

  And just an instant before my grip opened up, an instant before La Mano could drive the blade into my heart—an instant before it could end my life like it had been trying to do for God knows how long—my abuela’s words rang in my ears:

  Evil has always drawn its power from fear, from anger. So don’t hold on to any and it won’t have any power over you.

  I knew what I had to do. And it was easy, because just the memory of my abuela’s words was enough to drive every scrap of the fear out of my heart. All I had to do was force the hate out with it so that’s exactly what I did, and already I could feel La Mano’s hold on the sword weakening. So I just kept thinking about my family, my abuelita, my parents, about Violet, about my friends, Alvin and Sam—basically everyone who loved me and cared about me, and I tried to let as much love into my heart as possible, because I knew that love always—always—chases out fear and hate. And when I saw the sword begin to shudder, I gritted my teeth, muscled the pointy end back over the La Mano’s hairy, upraised fingers, and whispered, “My abuelita told me not to fear you. Not to hate you. So I won’t. But I will end you.”

  Then, in one Ninja Turtle–like move, I swung my legs up over my head, doing a sort of handstand on the hilt of the dagger, and gave my wings a great, big flap.

  For a moment nothing happened. Which, honestly, got me a tad bit worried.

  But then, it did.

  La Mano’s hold finally broke. The dark, smoky tendrils first merged into a single boiling, roiling cloud, then scattered, shrieking, as the sword slammed down, piercing the hand and burying itself into the windowsill like a stake. In that same instant, the shrillest, awfullest, most earsplitting cry I’d ever heard ripped through the castle, and a wall of inky blackness exploded out of the hand with the force of dynamite. I went hurtling sideways, smashed against the bony wall, banging my head, my back, my shoulders, then hit the ground in a tangled, twisted heap. I’m not gonna lie—I was hurting pretty bad right now. Not to mention I was bleeding, teetering on the verge of unconsciousness, and really couldn’t feel either one of my wings.

  But the most important thing? I was smiling.

  Smiling even as the world faded around me.

  CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED TEN

  When I woke up, I was lying on a comfy pew inside a large, beautiful church. The floors were white marble. A huge glittering chandelier hung overhead. Sunshine was streaming in through one of the high windows, painting the entire room in a gauzy, yellow light. I realized someone was sitting next to me—a woman, tanned, with dark reddish hair held up in a loose bun. As I rolled onto my back, she turned to look at me—and I froze. “Mom? Mom, what are you doing here…?”

  My mom, who looked like she hadn’t slept in a day or two (or maybe three, to be exact), slitted her eyes at me the way she does when she’s really, really—really, really, really—mad, and I knew I was pretty much done for. “Carlito Ernesto Hernández, do you have any idea what you’ve put us through? How dare you sneak out of the house in the middle of the night? You disobeyed me. You disobeyed your father. You put yourself in unthinkable danger, and before you say anything—even a single word—I just want you to know that I am just so, soooo… proud of you.”

  “Mom, I’m sorry. I—” Huh…?

  I sat up, rubbing my eyes, and she threw her arms around me, squeezing so tight it hurt. “Joanna told me everything,” she said. “You did so much good here today, Charlie; you saved many, many lives.”

  I could feel her crying now, her whole body shaking, and that was enough to make me tear up too. “Mom, I’m sorry… about everything.”

  “No, mi vida. Don’t be. You know what’s most important to me, right? What is that?”

  I drew a total blank. And that was probably due to a mild concussion. “That I… help people?” Total shot in the dark.

  “No. That’s a bit further down on my list. The most important thing to me is that you’re okay. And you are. So I’m okay.” She looked at m
e, her eyes swimming with tears. “Now, are you still grounded for the rest of your natural-born life? Absolutely. And I’d ground you for even longer if I could.”

  Another tear rolled down her face as she gave me a lopsided smile, and I couldn’t help but smile back, even though I had a sneaking suspicion that she wasn’t kidding about that whole grounded-for-the-rest-of-your-natural-born-life thing. I was just so happy to see her, I honestly didn’t even care. “But—how did you know where to find me?”

  She held up her cell phone. “The app’s called Where’sDoggy. You can thank Alvin.”

  I realized I was still wearing the stupid dog collar Alvin had given me and had to laugh.

  A moment later, as my mom ran her fingers through my damp, messy hair, still smiling at me, I said, “Mom, I saw her.…”

  She shook her head. “You saw who?”

  “Abuelita.… We talked. She’s… She says she’s always watching over me.”

  More tears tumbled down my mother’s cheeks as she leaned forward to kiss the top of my head. “She loved you so much… so, so much.”

  The door at the other end of the church opened. A thick column of sunshine slanted in, and someone poked their head inside for a moment before shutting the door again.

  My mom was staring in that direction. “Where’s your father?” she said, frowning. “I told him to get you something to eat; I don’t know what’s taking him so long. I’ll be right back.”

  She had barely reached the doors and opened them when a voice spoke up behind me. “How are you feeling, Charlie?”

  I turned to see Queen Joanna, El Justo Juez, El Cadejo, and Juan the basajaun all standing there, the four of them looking a wee bit more scruffy than usual, but still pretty good—all things considered, anyway.

  “I’ve felt better,” I said with a smile, and they all smiled back. (Except for Justo Juez, of course; though I’m pretty sure he was smiling on the inside.) “So what happened after I stabbed the hand?” I asked.

  “Well, without their puppeteer,” Joanna said, “the walking corpses returned to their natural state—dead. The Okpes and the rest of La Mano Peluda’s followers fled the moment they realized you’d stabbed it. Wasn’t much of a fight after that.”

  El Cadejo nuzzled my cheek with his big furry head; then he dragged his tongue across my face in his usual friendly greeting while he spoke directly into my mind: Charlie, we all want to apologize for using you the way we did. For putting you in such a dangerous position—and for doing it without your knowledge. But when we learned El Dark Brujo’s hand had once again been resurrected, we had to act swiftly; we had to draw it out into the open, and this was the only way. If there had been any other, pequeño, I promise you we would have chosen it.

  “I know,” I said, stroking his thick, soft fur, and it was true. I knew they all cared about me—cared a lot—and from everything I’d seen and heard over the last few days, what they’d done really did seem like the only way. But there was something I was curious about.…

  “So where were you guys the whole time?” I said, looking between El Cadejo and Justo Juez. “I mean, before we ran into you in El Salvador.…”

  “All over Central America,” Juez replied, his voice crackling like burning logs.

  It was all part of the show, El Cadejo explained. La Mano Peluda was trying to lead us away from you to make sure we couldn’t interfere in their plans, so we had to pretend to be fools—to be fooled. But we didn’t leave you without protection, as I’m sure you know.

  “And he certainly didn’t make it easy on me.…” Anahí—or did she go by Adriana now?—walked up beside them, no longer in tree form except for a little bit of moss showing on the back of one arm; beside her stood the witch Zarate with her peacock; all three of them smiled warmly at me (the peacock included—which was a little freaky, but also cool); then Adriana wrapped me up in a big hug, the palms of her hands still rough and a bit barky.

  “Sorry about that,” I said sheepishly.

  Queen Joanna took my hand between both of hers. Her many emerald rings glittered like fish scales. Her butterfly pin, I noticed, was once again pinned to the front of her gown. And interestingly enough, its wings were beating faintly. “No, I’m the one who is sorry,” she whispered. “This was all my scheming, and for that I beg your forgiveness. But if it makes you feel any better, I did not exactly take it easy on myself, either.…”

  That made me grin. “Does make me feel a little better.… So, like, you knew what La Mano Peluda was planning from the very beginning?”

  “Sí. Which is why we had to put on such an elaborate show, and why certain players had to be left in the dark until the very end.”

  “Like Los Embrujados?”

  “Precisamente,” she said, sounding like a teacher whose favorite student had just given a good answer. “And it was a shame that we had to because those lobisomem are, in fact, some of our fiercest allies. See, it was El Dark Brujo himself who, in their moment of greatest weakness, exploited their grief and turned them into lobisomem, hoping to add them to his numbers. They have been his sworn enemies since that day. So naturally, when they uncovered the necromancer’s scheme, they moved to stop him, which meant that they first needed to first stop you from breaking the elemental bonds on his coffins. And it was that exact reaction that we required, because El Brujo would have expected nothing less. In fact, anything less would have aroused his suspicions.… Like I said, it was quite an elaborate show.”

  “And what about Madremonte?” I asked. “You knew about her, too?”

  “We’ve had our suspicions for a while.…”

  “But why did she do it? Why would she betray La Liga?”

  “Each soul carries its own burdens; I find that it is always best not to judge others. However, I can tell you that her feelings about me have changed over time; she’s begun to feel that I’ve grown too cautious, too calculated. But if I have indeed become overly deliberate, it is only because I have found hope, Charlie. Because I have found you.”

  Juan the basajaun gave me a huge toothy grin through that bushy blond beard of his and reached down—like way, way down (dude was almost ten feet tall)—to ruffle my hair. Then he patted me on the back with one ginormous hand and nearly sent me flying off the pew.

  “She did, unfortunately, manage to escape,” Joanna continued. “Madremonte is quite powerful. And even more than powerful, she’s infinitely cunning. La Mano, however—gracias a ti—did not.”

  “So we did it, huh…?” I smiled up at all of them. “We won. He’s gone for good, right?”

  The six of them exchanged uneasy looks, and there was a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. “What? What’s wrong?” I asked.

  The queen raised her hands, patting the air, as if to calm me down. “We’ve won this battle, Charlie… but I’m afraid to say the real war has only just begun.”

  “But don’ theenk on deeth,” Juan said, wagging a furry finger at me

  “¡No, ni lo pienses!” Juez agreed. “Eat what your parents are bringing for you and try to relax.…”

  Nodding, I took a deep breath, trying to take Juez’s advice, but suddenly remembered something—or should I say, someone. “What about Saci?” I whispered, sort of mentally crossing my fingers—hoping against hope. “Did you find him?”

  Joanna’s expression was tight as she said, “We did.”

  “He helped us,” I told her. “He might’ve started off on their side, but he ended up on ours.”

  “Sí, I know.”

  “Were you… able to do anything?” I could hear the anxiousness in my voice, and when the queen frowned, I felt my heart break all over again.

  “He was too far gone. But we will honor his memory and his sacrifice. We will bury him in his own country, as he would have wished.”

  “I want to be there,” I said, and meant it, too. It was the least I could do for a friend. Especially one that had given his life to save mine.

  “And you will be,” Joan
na assured me. “But for now, relájate. Gather your strength. We have a little more to take care of here and then we’ll be off.” She started to turn, then stopped, her green eyes suddenly bright with curiosity. “Oh, and, Charlie, one question: When Madremonte stabbed you through the heart with the thorn, who was it that you called out to?”

  Called out to? “Uh, no one…”

  “But you were communicating with someone, ¿sí?”

  Surprised, I sat up higher in the pew. “Yeah, my grandmother. How’d you know?”

  Joanna’s face wore a shocked look, but she said nothing.

  “But—that’s because I died, right…? I mean, was dead… no?”

  “Death has nothing to do with it,” she said. “At that moment, you reached out across the worlds with your innermost being. You reached from this world into the other. Into La Tierra de los Muertos. And… somehow your abuelita must’ve been reaching out to you at the exact same moment. Quite a remarkable happening, if truth be told.”

  “But what… exactly happened?”

  “Un abrazo del alma—a soul embrace. It’s a spiritual connection between two individuals. Very, very brief, but very, very powerful. And in a location such as we were, especially given the season, such connections are easier made. But do not be fooled—they are still incredibly rare, conjured only by the most powerful sombras. You two must’ve shared a very strong bond to be able to have found each other that way.”

  “I loved her. I mean, I love her.… She helped raise me.” I watched Joanna nod for a few moments and then a sudden thought struck me, one that had me grinning like a gator. “But—can I do it again…? Like, if I wanted to just say hi or whatever?”